Chapter 1: Great Benefactor

Jingtai thirty-third year, ninth month, ninth day, Double Ninth Festival dawn, ten days before the coup d’état, Beijing

Long, long ago, there was a lonely dragon that lay hidden beneath the earth.

Its tail began west at the Tianshan Mountains, its body winding eastward along the Yellow River, passing through Henan to reach the north. For millions of years, that dragon angrily opened its bloody maw to devour a bright pearl.

That pearl had a name – anciently called “Bitter Sea Youzhou,” renamed “Nanjing” after hundreds of years, then “Dadu” after hundreds more years. Today’s name remains concise and resonant – those two thunderous characters:

“Beijing.”

The evil dragon sprawling across China constantly brought calamity. Wherever its power reached, this dragon brought countless disasters to the Central Plains. No matter who sat atop the evil dragon’s head, each became a murderous demon. Counting from when the three military commissioners attacked Chang’an of the Great Tang, until foreign tribes moved south – Chang’an, Kaifeng, Lin’an, Jinling – one prosperous dynasty after another was destroyed and abandoned by the evil dragon, never to return.

Whether sage or fool, once seated on the dragon’s back, all became mad and lost their minds, constantly bringing evil to the world. To eliminate this terrifying legend, when the founding Grand Ancestor of this dynasty recovered half the realm, he had already decided to destroy Beijing. He first established Fengyang in Anhui as the central capital, then expanded the palace at Jiangning of Southern Tang, calling it “Dragon Coiling Tiger Crouching City.” To destroy the northern royal qi, after attacking and entering Dadu, he further ordered the demolition of the Forbidden City – all royal architectural layouts were forbidden to remain. Beyond this, he also contracted the northern city by five li, making its heartland cramped and unfavorable for expansion.

Even so, the Grand Ancestor’s heart remained worried. Beijing bordered the barbarians closely – if these thieves broke through Juyong Pass again to ride the dragon’s back, the great realm would surely be destroyed instantly. He calculated carefully and stationed the most brave and battle-tested Prince of Yan to guard Beijing, hoping to use the Prince of Yan’s talents plus the military might of six hundred thousand troops – first to suppress the evil dragon, second to guard against foreign nations, ensuring the imperial grandson’s orthodox succession would continue for ten thousand generations.

With great difficulty the Grand Ancestor arranged his careful plans. As a result, the legendary evil dragon never appeared, the fierce barbarians never invaded territories, but the one who truly caused rebellion was Prince of Yan himself. Military power was uneven – north strong, south weak. Prince of Yan led the northern armies south to attack “Dragon Coiling Tiger Crouching City.” Uncle and nephew mutually destroyed each other, the realm erupted in warfare. The Grand Ancestor’s grandson wandered in exile, his whereabouts unknown thereafter.

Prince of Yan relied on the evil dragon to rise and successfully pacify the realm. He wanted to learn from the Grand Ancestor’s example and move the capital south, but remembering the evil dragon legend, he couldn’t help but worry. Beijing’s strategic position was extremely stern – it was the first line of barbarian southward advance and also the first station of Chinese emperors’ northern expeditions. It couldn’t be left unguarded. But who would guard it? If military power was handed over to let his own people sit on the dragon’s back, then the Rebellion of Seven States, Disaster of Eight Princes, and Jingnan Campaign would be right before his eyes. But if military power was given to those of different surnames, the An Lushan Rebellion and regional warlord separatism were vividly remembered. What to do? Simply be ruthless and remove northern frontier defenses entirely? But once barbarian tribes broke through Juyong Pass and easily rode the dragon’s back, thinking of the Jingkang shame still unsnowed and the hatred of Southern Song ministers carrying the little emperor to jump into the sea would repeat again. The more Prince of Yan thought, the more vexed he became, worrying day and night. He summoned the National Master for consultation and divination, finally learning heaven’s will and letting successive emperors understand one thing.

Beijing was where royal qi resided – absolutely impossible to eliminate through human effort. And that angry dragon wasn’t some evil dragon but the true master of China. Only when the Son of Heaven personally rode the evil dragon’s back could the realm endure.

Finally this dynasty established its capital at Beijing, with the Son of Heaven commanding six hundred thousand troops directly facing the northern barbarians. The national capital was set at the first line of defense – when the nation exists, the Son of Heaven exists; conversely, when the nation perishes, the Son of Heaven perishes. This was the bearing of a dignified sovereign. But Prince of Yan, remembering the evil dragon legend, still felt fearful, afraid the dragon veins would surge and shake him to the ground. To suppress the evil dragon, he summoned talented intellectuals from across the realm, using National Master Liu’s inspiration as blueprint, imitating Nezha’s eight-armed appearance, following the form of “three heads, six arms, two feet” to construct eleven palace gates to step on the dragon’s back. Additionally, he used Jinshui River as reins to bridle the Yongding River dragon’s mouth, finally covering and concealing the dragon’s eyes with stone slabs so the evil dragon would be blind forever, unable to observe human joys and sorrows.

“Eight-armed Nezha” sat firmly on the dragon’s back, controlling the blind angry dragon, and the emperor was thus reassured to ascend the throne. From then on, establishing altars and raising trees, piling Xiushan and Qianqiu Pavilion, West Garden North Sea, golden turtle and jade rainbow – Beijing was again established as the imperial capital to supervise the realm.

For a hundred years, the evil dragon kept its eyes tightly closed, silently weeping, waiting for the moment when treacherous heroes would open the mysterious pass. When that time came, the evil dragon would raise thousands of waves, and the world would be swallowed by warfare.

In the darkness, someone quietly counted.

One, two, three, four, five… no, no, last time I counted to one hundred thirty-four million five hundred twenty thousand, I should add to that count. Five hundred twenty thousand and one… five hundred twenty thousand and two…

How long had it been? Besides water waves helplessly lapping the shore, there was nothing here.

Gloom, silence – no sights before the eyes, no sounds in the ears. Heart dead, hopeless, sorrowful, helpless – a few feet square of muddy wet ground surrounded him like an isolated island. Besides sitting with knees hugged, silently counting in his mouth, he could do nothing.

Oh Heaven…

Why still live? Was it to face endless darkness? Or to repay his boundless karmic debts?

Gazing up in confusion, nothing was before his eyes. Loneliness made one bewildered, darkness made one weary. Just continue counting like this…

One hundred thirty-four million five hundred twenty thousand and three, and four, and five…

One hundred thirty-nine million nine hundred ninety thousand and one, and two, and three…

Suddenly the counting stopped.

Click, click, click… sounds came from overhead. The stone slab was finally opening. Mud and ash fell from above, as if dawn approached. The black shadow looked up toward heaven, gazing at the divine radiance bestowed by gods and Buddhas.

Looking up at the long-missed blue sky – round and small, though only palm-sized, that enchanting color was still azure blue.

Divine blessing rained down from overhead, descending onto the water’s light before him. The dragon’s tears were bright.

Sunlight sparkled, emerald waves rippled. Though the puddle at his feet was also round and small, those unfathomably deep wavelets remained clear.

Child… is it you?

The corners of his mouth trembling, the black figure made inarticulate sounds of joy.

“Hey!” A sharp voice fell into the well. “Is anyone in the well?”

Shouts emerged from overhead – though childish and weak voices, they stirred echoes all around. Buzzing sounds circled, voices reached the well bottom, but made that person’s heart sink.

Not… not the person he was waiting for…

The echoes slowly faded. After a long while, another call came. Hope in his heart ignited again.

“Hey! Is anyone in the well?”

A different voice – though the person shouting had changed, that urgent tone remained the same.

Not… covering his face with both hands… this still wasn’t the person he was waiting for…

“Ptui!” A mouthful of spit shot out, falling from the sky to strike the well water before him, stirring small ripples.

“Yang Shaoqi! Didn’t you say your back yard was haunted?” The child who spat cursed mockingly: “We worked so hard to move this ghost well’s stone slab open – how come we don’t see half a ghost shadow!”

“I… I don’t know either…” the stammering child replied awkwardly. “I also heard my mother say it. She said this well was fiercely haunted and told us not to play in the back yard normally.”

The previous speaking child made a sound of understanding and laughed: “I see. Maybe since the sun hasn’t set yet, the ghost doesn’t dare come out.” Speaking, he called down the well again: “Hey! Are there ghosts? Come out quickly!”

The two children overhead kept peering down. Small black shadows blocked the precious sunlight, shadows floating restlessly on the pool water like playful little ghosts tormenting the helpless prisoner in this earthly hell.

With a rumble, the stone slab closed shut. Overhead was pitch black again.

The mischievous children had left.

Darkness descended, his heart sank too. Now whether eyes were open or closed made no difference. Everything before him was black anyway. Three hundred sixty-five days a year, calculating – all black. Whether these eyes existed or not made no difference.

One hundred thirty-nine million nine hundred ninety thousand and ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine… Fear struck – would he still not see his heart’s concern even after counting to two hundred million, three hundred million, four hundred million? Covering his face with both hands, the dark figure wept.

Just then, as if gods and Buddhas heard his crying, the stone slab opened again.

Blue sky reflected, a low call came from overhead.

“Uncle, I’m here. Our little brother didn’t see you, did he?”

Heavenly music descended from above. In that clear, pleasant sound, the evil dragon saw a child – that handsome, noble face leaning toward the well edge, calling softly: “Uncle, are you still well?”

Child, child… through tear-blurred eyes, the black shadow nodded desperately, waving both hands upward as if wanting to embrace that child.

A rope flew down, stirring happy ripples. A small figure climbed down, appearing before him. It was a child’s red cheeks – a handsome, lovable little lord smiling at him.

Involuntarily reaching out to gently stroke his small face. The little lord took out a duck leg from his bosom, offering it with his hand to feed him. An oily, fragrant good taste appeared in his mouth. Smack, smack – though the duck meat was cold, the flavor was so sweet.

“Uncle, eat slowly. There’s wine too.” The clever face broke into smiles. Small hands produced a little gourd, bringing it to his lips to feed him drink. Glug, glug, gulp, gulp – mellow and sweet, this was truly superior wine.

Having eaten and drunk his fill, then came the happiest moment. The small figure embraced him, nestling against his chest. The warm child was always so considerate – this was heaven’s greatest blessing to him. The black shadow smiled, the little lord smiled too. All year round, the two truly smiled heartily only these few times.

Gently stroking the child before him, he could never bear to let go. Three hundred sixty-five days, four thousand three hundred eighty hours – as long as there was one moment of such brightness, all the remaining three hundred days had color. Like a candle flame in a dark room – no need to illuminate the entire space brightly, as long as the table before him was lit, everything was beautiful…

The child looked up at him, saying sadly: “Uncle… I… I…”

What was wrong? The little lord’s delicate brows furrowed tight as he rubbed his ear hole, seeming to feel some pain.

“I have to leave home.”

Eh? Thunderbolt struck. The black shadow trembled in shock.

“Because…” the little lord lowered his head, blood seeping from his right ear, “I’m going to Shaolin Temple…”

No, no, no… if you go to Shaolin Temple, you can’t come see me anymore… Involuntarily, whimpering sounds emerged from his throat. The black shadow grabbed the child’s arms, crying out inarticulately. The little lord looked up at him, burying himself in his embrace as the two hugged tightly. The black shadow’s shoulders rose and fell – though unable to speak, his face was still hot and burning. He knew he was crying, tears surging and wetting his feet, falling into the deep well.

“Uncle, don’t cry…” The child’s tone was very gentle. He covered his right ear and said: “Someday…”

I will definitely return.

I will break this well and take you from the boundless bitter sea…

I will bring you back to the human world, back to the glory you should have…

In the darkness, the handsome figure knelt on the ground. He slowly took out a sutra from his bosom. Jade-white fingers opened the folded page and picked out a button.

Thread passed through the button. Fine, soft silk like familial love and longing came before the tattered, decayed clothing. On the garment were two neat rows of buttons, but the one at the chest had long been lost. Slender fingers gently and slowly threaded the needle and mended – he wanted to sew back what had been lost so long.

The handsome face leaned toward the black shadow, kissing that skeletal corpse.

“Father, Guanguan has returned according to his promise to take you away…”

A ceramic tablet on the ground recorded the master’s identity. Yang Yuan – that handsome father who made naive deals with demons lay quietly at the well bottom like this… waiting for himself to return…

In rumbling sounds, gods and Buddhas opened heaven’s gate. In an instant, the black shadow plummeted down. Large splashes rose at his feet – it was a dragon-like rope connecting hell and the human world, about to ferry him back to the killing field of Asura.

The noble young master embraced the skeletal remains. His left hand gripped the rope, gently pulling. The giant dragon immediately slowly ascended. The dragon bore the father-son affection, slowly carrying them back to their homeland, leading them to where they should go.

In twenty-six years of life, people had obstructed him – not just one person, but chains from eight directions binding him tightly.

Father’s schemes, mother’s coldness, superiors’ suspicion, master’s obsession, peers’ jealousy – all these bindings, following the court’s political ups and downs, dragged him toward boundless hell. Everyone was using him, contaminating him, making him become a bloody blade in black, polluted sin. After countless years of torment and torture, no one noticed the blade edge had curled and the scapegoat’s heart had also broken.

When the whirlpool spun to its tightest point, pain and frustration reached their peak. Even if heaven gave him no way to live, he would still rely on his own instincts to kill his way out of the siege, let him break free from ten-sided ambush like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, returning again to his rightful position.

Not fearing floating clouds obscuring his view, naturally because he stood at the highest peak! The evil dragon was about to awaken, personally awakened by the “Asura King” to let it roar angrily at the sky again.

With a heavy step out of the ancient well, he crushed unknown purple flowers beside the well. Sunlight shone, reflecting on his handsome face like gods and Buddhas. A pair of warm large hands reached toward him, taking over the skeletal remains.

His freed right hand waved gently. Urgent footsteps came from one side, followed by the sound of kneeling. A sword was presented before him.

“Are the people…” he took the murderous weapon and asked gently, “all assembled?”

The old man bowed deeply: “Following master’s command, we thirty-nine volunteers are all here awaiting orders.”

With a sound, he turned around. Before him was a mass of blackness – his eyes saw nothing but resolute figures. These people, tall or short, though different in appearance, shared the same look in their eyes – the grief and hatred of those once abandoned by the world.

Unforgettable volunteers, each bare-chested with small lonely wild geese branded on their right arms. How could sparrows know the swan’s ambition? They branded their aspirations, burning their flesh. When the mark became fearless, unwavering faith, the warriors’ names would become…

National Iron Guard!

Thirty-nine lives plus his own – forty people bare-chested. Even he undid his upper garment. On his pale chest remained a round red scar – that spear wound that pierced through his chest was exactly the mark the world’s abandonment had left him.

Eighty eyes in the field gazed at each other – not one showed fear or trembling.

His shoulders trembled slightly. Suddenly he let out a long roar, sternly saying: “I establish this worldly aspiration to reach the supreme path!”

With a swish, the long sword struck out, sword tip pointing straight toward heaven. In an instant, thirty-nine long swords responded by leaving their sheaths, all pointing toward the great red sun wheel. Everyone looked like demons and ghosts, wailing with abandon: “If this vow is not fulfilled, we swear not to achieve enlightenment!”

“Gentlemen, abandoned by gods and Buddhas, scorned by the world, the long night endless like falling into dust…” Winter approached. In the Yang family’s old residence far in the suburbs, weeping sounds arose. Steel shed tears, voices mournful. The thirty-nine responded to their master’s suffering – some tears streaming down faces, some lowering heads in resentment, each face showing grief and indignation, spirits passionate.

“I establish this worldly aspiration,” the Asura King’s expression serene, palms together, stating his heart’s desire, “to reach the supreme path.”

If this vow is not fulfilled, we swear not to achieve enlightenment

Now as great benefactor, universally aiding all poor and suffering

Making all sentient beings have no worries in the long night

Sentient beings hearing my name all come to my pure land

Heavenly gods of the void should bring precious wonderful flowers…

Ten days later, the nineteenth of the ninth month, exactly coinciding with Guanyin’s renunciation day, in that great compassionate and merciful deep night, the final elite force would arrive at the capital. Young faction volunteers would immediately reverse the entire situation.

Jingtai was their sword to eliminate political enemies. Wu Ying was their net to subdue ministers.

Zhengtong… was their era name to pacify the realm.

When flying shadows from hell descended upon the capital, when young military men took control of the palace chambers, the common people of the realm would never forget this day.

In the thousands of generations to follow, people would remember this group…

Models of heroic volunteers through the ages, known to the world as “National Iron Guard.”